


a flair for the dramatic

by i_am_sion



Series: a small town like this [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_sion/pseuds/i_am_sion
Summary: a spinoff series comprised of scenes that didn't make it into mania
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Seteth, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Series: a small town like this [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714864
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	1. air on a lonely coast

Seteth had yet to save Byleth’s number, but being as organized as he was, his was the only one unsaved in his phone, so it was easy enough to know when he was calling.

“Hey, Seteth? Can I come over today?”

The youth pastor frowned. “Why?”

“Oh, I just thought it was a good time to get together to start on that retreat is all.”

Seteth took a pause and held his phone away from his face to hit his forehead against a counter. It was Friday. Seteth had to knock himself upside the head for thinking something… untoward, but there really was no other reason they ever contacted each other other than sex. 

“I don’t think today would be… the best.”

“Oh, sorry. Could I ask why?”

“Flayn-- my daughter, she....” He sighed and leaned against his kitchen sink. “She came home in this horrible mood, and I don’t know why. I can’t get her to cheer up.”

“The little lady’s in a bad mood?” Byleth said, and Seteth could hear the concern in his voice over the phone. “Well, that’s no good.”

Seteth shook his head, even though he couldn’t see him do it. “She was fine this morning-- ecstatic, even. She looked really excited for something but wouldn’t tell me.”

“Hm.”

It sounded like Byleth was piecing things together, and Seteth continued to talk. “And when I picked her up, she was wearing something completely different from this morning! She had these high heels on and her face was caked with makeup and--”

“Oh.”

“--I didn’t even know she owned high heels or makeup!” The man began to ramble. He was just worried about his little girl. “She climbed into the car and wouldn’t say a word to me! She had mascara and tears just _pouring_ down her cheeks. I couldn’t get her to stop crying! She wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong, and she’s been holed up in her room ever since we’ve come home.”

“Is that it?”

“Well, now I’m making pancakes to cheer her up.”

“That’s all?” Byleth huffed a small laugh and the sound angered Seteth. Couldn’t he see this was serious enough to warrant pancakes in the middle of the day?

“What do you _mean_ ‘that’s all’?! Flayn is obviously upset, and I have no way of remedying it! What if she’s being bullied? I’ll have to talk to my sister about this. This kind of behavior is unacceptable--”

“Lemme come over.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Lemme come over. What’s your address?”

“Why would I just tell you my address?”

“Because I’m really good with girls,” he said almost like the answer was obvious, and Seteth wanted to reach through the phone and smack him and wipe the smug smile he was undoubtedly wearing right off his pretty face.

“No, I am not letting you near my daughter.” Worried sick or not, he wasn’t going to have Byleth come over as some sort of last ditch resort. He was her _father_. What kind of father would he be if he couldn’t solve this one tiny thing?

“Alright, then I’ll just ask around. I can’t imagine it’d be too hard to find your house in this tiny ass town.”

\---

Flayn was a high school senior, and she was under five feet tall.

She wore her hair in curly little pigtails over her shoulders. She called her father _papa_. She still willingly went to church. Her most popular Instagram post had 12 whole likes. Her dad blasted ABBA and Journey when he dropped her off and taught kids Bible verses on the weekends. She couldn't drive either. She wasn't super athletic or super smart.

She wasn’t popular in most senses of the word.

High school was brutal, and she usually didn’t let it get to her. After all she was so so close to graduating. She’d be out of this stupid place before she even knew it, and… well, if she were going to be out of here anyways, why not put her best foot forward?

“...look where that got me,” she mumbled to herself. 

Her short skirt rode up on her backside, and her bralette shirt thing (she hardly considered it clothing) was far too tight. It clung to her skin like shame. Her feet hurt from wearing heels. They were a lot heavier than she thought they would be, and how was she supposed to know you're supposed to go a size up? She had no idea how other girls could wear these clothes every day and not want to curl up in a ball. Getting dress coded was another thing entirely, and…

Flayn missed her usual t-shirt and jeans.

"I should change," she said to no one, voice wet with tears.

What was she thinking? That she could compete with the other girls and beat them at their own game? She only wanted to look pretty for once and ended up with an entire cake on her face. Maybe she'd go and stuff her face with cake after this. No point in trying to get that hourglass figure now that everyone's seen all the pudge on her tummy and thighs.

She could get her money back if she tried returning her clothes. The department store probably wouldn’t take the heels though; she’d scuffed those up to hell and back just trying to figure out how to walk in them. Mercedes was kind enough to lend her the makeup after seeing how _expensive_ that stuff could be, so Flayn made a mental note to return them before Mass on Sunday. 

She could get her money back but she’d never get back all the time she wasted on YouTube learning how to do makeup.

Thinking back on how everyone at school laughed at her, her pride would probably never recover either.

She was about to slip into her PJs and scrub her face clean when she heard the roar of a motorcycle rip through her street. When she went to her window to check just who could be causing such a ruckus on their quiet lane, she saw it park right in their driveway. She didn’t recognize the driver right away but she squinted and…

“Isn’t that Byleth?”

Flayn watched as he kicked the kickstand down and walked right up to their doorstep. He didn’t look like he belonged in their neighborhood. He wasn’t wearing the pressed shirt and dress pants he usually donned for church-- or her father’s tie for that matter. The leather jacket was the same though, and that paired with the ripped jeans, t-shirt, and combat boots made him look like a thug knocking on their door.

They had spoken a couple times in the courtyard after church, and sometimes he would let her help clean up his sound equipment and pack his bike. He was nice to her. Very charming, silver-tongued, and quick with a joke. They didn’t know each other too well, but he was easy to get along with. She could see why her father had taken a liking to him.

There was quite a commotion downstairs. Seteth didn’t sound too happy to see him.

After a minute or two of bickering, she heard footsteps heading up the stairs, with her father’s voice angrily clucking along.

“You can’t just take the whole plate--”

“Which room is hers?”

Flayn opened up and poked her head into the hallway. Byleth had a plate stacked with pancakes in his hand, and Seteth looked as if he were two seconds from strangling him.

“Puff, please do not let him in,” her father begged her.

She couldn’t do anything except stare.

“Oh, come on, I came all this way. You want pancakes?”

“ _I_ made those pancakes,” protested Seteth.

Against her better judgment, Flayn started laughing. The scene reminded her of a time from years ago. It reminded her of her mother, coming home from work, marching right up to her door, stealing the sweets her father had so carefully crafted for her, and in turn she also stole all the credit for making their daughter feel better. Back then she had been crying about… something so small she couldn’t remember it anymore. A stolen Barbie on the playground or a puppy in the pet store window she couldn’t bring home. Her father was at a total loss back then, just as he was now, and even though her mother couldn’t possibly have had all the answers to the universe, she had a smile that reassured her that life couldn’t be all that bad.

Byleth’s eyes shone the same way, confidently and he already had one foot in her room. She coughed and retreated back in with a gesture for him to follow. He may as well come in. “Sure, I could use some pancakes.”

“Flayn--”

“It’s fine, papa.” She gave him a little wave and closed the door in his face. She waited until she heard him sigh and stalk off before turning back to Byleth. "What're you doing here?" 

"Well, I heard a lovely lady was having a bad day, and I came to cheer her up. Not sure who it is though. She's about yea high, huge green eyes puffy from crying, very very cute. You seen her?" 

“Smooth. I could see why my dad likes you.”

Byleth barked a short laugh. "I wouldn't say _likes_."

"You're the reason he's out every Saturday, aren't you?"

"Oh, you know about that?" He took a gander around her beach-themed bedroom with its seafoam green walls and seashell-shaped decorations. Everything followed the ocean motif, from the photo frames hanging around to the vanity and seat. A lone ukulele sat in the corner collecting dust. "Cute room."

Flayn flopped onto her stomach on her bed. "I can't believe my dad got a boyfriend before me."

“I wouldn’t say ‘boyfriend’ either, but…” _It has a nice ring to it._

Byleth didn’t finish that sentence aloud. He only raised a brow at her and parked himself on the edge of her bed, placing the pancakes right next to her head. “C’mon, cheer up. Nobody can be sad with pancakes.”

The girl only poked at the stack with her fork. “I’m trying.”

"Lemme guess. You got rejected, didn't you?"

She perked up at that, looking at him with wide, puffy eyes. "How'd you know that?"

"I saw you borrowing makeup from Mercedes last Sunday after church. Plus it's… not hard to guess with--" He gestured to her ensemble and tear-stained cheeks-- "that. I’m guessing that’s why you didn't wanna talk about it with your dad?"

Flayn groaned. "If I told him he would've flipped out."

"Too late for that."

The girl rolled over onto her back and spread her arms out, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars she had pasted on her ceiling. They looked stupid and childish and were an ugly shade of yellow in the daylight. "I thought he liked me. He's always staring at me in class and he's nicer to me than other boys and… Now I feel stupid."

“High school boys are _never_ worth it.”

“My parents were high school sweethearts.”

“High school boys are _sometimes_ worth it.”

Flayn giggled and lifted the fork to her mouth. She could use some syrup.

"So why'd you get all gussied up for him?"

"Well, I don't fit in," she told him as if it weren't obvious. "I thought maybe… maybe he hadn't made a move on me yet because he would be ashamed of being with a weirdo like me, so I wanted to show him that I could be like the other girls, y'know? I-I could be cool and pretty too."

Byleth didn't respond to that. He just stood from his seat, picked up the dusty instrument in the corner, and relocated to the chair before her vanity, listening to her ramble on and on about her horrible day. How she went through all the trouble to change during homeroom and nearly sprained her ankle walking in uncomfortable shoes. How a hall monitor called her out for her skirt being _almost_ too short had it not been for her pulling it down by its hem. 

And then lunch came around and…

“He almost choked on his sandwich,” she whispered, face half smooshed into her pillow, plate abandoned to the side. She’d come to regret smearing her foundation on her sheets like that later, but for now it was all she could do to stop herself from bursting into tears. “They were all laughing at me. I had to pretend it was a joke and run away.”

Seteth would never understand. He would never see just how embarrassing the whole ordeal had been. He’d only be focused on getting the students involved punished, which wouldn’t fix anything-- in fact, it’d all probably get worse.

And it certainly wouldn’t make her feel better. Seteth wasn’t good with words like that.

At some point in her rant, Byleth had started plucking at the ukulele’s strings, tuning it. One of Flayn’s uncles had given it to her as a gift a long time ago, but she had never bothered to learn it. It was more of a decoration in her beach-themed bedroom than it was an instrument. There was an instance where she tried strumming it, but it was too out of tune for her to bother.

“What’re you doing?” Flayn asked and brought herself up to sit. She slid the plate towards him in offering, but he declined. Wasn’t too big a fan of dry, cold flapjacks.

“I’m listening,” he told her even as he tried out a chord or two.

“Yeah? Then what’d I say?”

“You were talking about how you liked a boy enough to pretend you’re someone you’re not, and hopefully now you know why that’s never a good idea. But also kids are assholes.”

She couldn’t argue with that because he wasn’t wrong. She just pulled her legs under her, sitting criss-cross applesauce and munching away blearily. “You remind me of my mom.”

“Yeah?”

“I tell my dad-- well… not _everything_ but...” Flayn explained. “When I was little, I would get in these horrible moods over nothing, and I would always lock him out of my room. I guess I just wanted someone to be mad at instead of myself. But then… mama would come home from work, all tired in her scrubs and she’d have food for me, even though I know now that papa made it. She’d let herself in and listen to me and wait until I tuckered myself out crying.” 

“So you’re a mama’s girl?” There was a hint of a smile on Byleth’s lips as he said it. 

“Oh, no. I’m a daddy’s girl, through and through. But he…” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “He just doesn’t get it. Some things can’t be fixed by how he handles things, and sometimes you just need someone to listen to you and sit still by your side.”

Knowing all too well how dads could be like that, Byleth nodded. He seemed entirely disinterested by what she was saying, busying himself tuning the poor neglected ukulele. His fingers jumped around the small frets to get accustomed to its size. It had been a while since he’d played one of these.

“And she’d pretend she wasn’t listening like that too.”

He broke character for a moment and chuckled. “And then what?”

“And then she’d cuddle me and sing until I fell asleep.”

“...I can do _one_ of those things.”

“You’re gonna sing for me?”

“Nah, I’m gonna cuddle you.”

Flayn giggled with her mouth full of dry breakfast food. “I’d rather you sing.”

"Hold on, gimme a sec." Byleth pursed his lips and continued to tune by ear. “What’d she used to sing?”

“Oh, anything. I was so little. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star usually did the trick. She’d add funny lyrics to it and dance.” They’d count the pasted stars on her ceiling and make her stuffed animals clap after the performance too, but she didn’t tell him that.

Byleth huffed a laugh. “Now you’re just trying to make me into your little show monkey, and you’re not even paying me a cent.”

“I can throw pieces of pancake at you instead of peanuts.”

“There’s an idea.” He chuckled and hummed and just kept humming until he hit a tune, and his hands found the chords. “ _You wanna walk into the room like that other girl does-- the one that's always making everybody fall in love. You see, girl, you're a lot like me._ ”

Flayn took her pancakes and sat back against her pillows to listen to him sing. He had a different tone than when singing church hymns. It was tender and somehow… it felt like he believed what he was singing now instead of what he sang in church-- as if him singing On Eagle’s Wings wasn’t endearing enough. 

Byleth had a certain air to him when he sang. He could be a little air-headed at times, like his head was in the clouds and he was off in his own little world where no one could touch him. But when he lost himself to a song, he looked so vulnerable with his head bowed and shoulders lowered, close to the ground. Within reach. 

His lashes, Flayn noticed, were long. She didn’t know what he was talking about when he said he understood her wanting to be pretty. He was plenty pretty himself. 

“ _You wanna lay the blame on somebody else-- all those tiny little minds that leave you up on a shelf. Well, okay. I've seen it done that way. But just in case nobody ever comes through, riding in to come to your rescue, you still have a chance--_ ” His voice floated airily over the notes until Flayn opened up her mouth to talk. She had been so enraptured by his performance, she’d forgotten how to talk.

“Do you have a song for every situation?” She asked, leaning in.

Byleth cocked a brow at her for interrupting.

“Sorry.”

He continued, and she fell silent, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of missing her mother. Byleth couldn’t have been a replacement for her mother. Byleth wasn’t there to fix all the things her father couldn’t. He was his own person, and for a moment she felt bad for thinking he’d be anything else. 

“ _You still have a chance. You don't have to be asked to dance. And I know how much you've been dying to say--_ ” Byleth took his hands off the instrument and spread his arms out with a handsome grin. “ _Look how much everybody loves me!_ ”

Flayn giggled despite the ache in her stomach, which was beginning to lesson now that she had food in her and good company.

“ _But guess who gets left when everyone else fades away?_ ” At this he paused with his fingers poised to play the next chord. He looked like he was seriously asking her with his brow raised and cheek pressed to his shoulder.

She sniffled and shook her head. “I get it.”

“Do you though?”

“High school boys are never worth it.”

“Atta girl.” The song struck up again. “ _So before you trade in your summer skin for those high heeled shoes, to make him want to be with you, let me remind you one more time that just maybe, you're beautiful but you just can't see. So why don't you trust me? They’ll see it too, you beautiful girl you._ ”

Flayn settled back into the pillows that were piled along her headboard, listening as he hummed an outro. The tune fell apart as he went into improv, but it had the girl giggling silly. 

“There you are.” Byleth grinned back and returned the ukulele to its place in the corner. “Now go wipe that shit off your face and let’s watch some TikToks.”

There was a question she’d been meaning to ask, and the urge struck up again because it was hard to imagine anyone not falling in love with him after hearing him sing.

“Is singing how you hooked my dad?”

“What, like a siren?” He was grinning, but not at her. 

“I figure you’ve got some sort of magical charm like that. Everyone likes you around here.”

Someone cleared their throat at the door, making the two of them turn. 

“Papa! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to see you clear that shortstack dry.” Seteth lifted the jug of Mrs. Butterworth’s he had in one hand. He was blushing profusely. 

Flayn looked to the empty plate beside her. “Oh.”

“I was going to invite Mr. Eisner over for dinner since it’s getting late, but I’m not so sure you’d be up for more food.”

The way he called Byleth by his last name made Flayn sit up a little. “No! Please let him stay for dinner! Here, I’ll go change and wipe this sh--”

Her father looked at her expectantly.

“I’ll wipe this _shtuff_ off, so just wait for me.”

Byleth could not have been a good influence on his daughter. “You can still eat even after that?”

Flayn was pulling Byleth off his feet to shove him out when she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror behind him. Seeing her round puffer fish cheeks and the pudge on her tummy had part of her wanting to say no. She’d get fat. But… If someone as pretty as Byleth could call her beautiful then maybe….

\---

“Would you stop glaring at me?”

“I am _not_ glaring at you,” Seteth huffed even though he was. 

Byleth smiled, a little lopsided, as he leaned against the kitchen island. Seteth had refused his help to set up for dinner. “You were smiling at me earlier when I was singing to the puffer fish.”

“I was not smiling at you either.”

“Sure.” He watched from his spot as Seteth busied himself placing silverware and plates around the dinner table. There was no wall that separated the kitchen from the dining room, only a tall counter with a sink and stove. On the stove bubbled a pot of stew and on the counter rested a picture frame with an old photo. The Nathairs looked like a happy family.

Eventually, Flayn came bouncing down the stairs, her hair plaited in sweet pigtails over her shoulders and her face clean and bright. She looked relieved to be back in her overalls.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had three places at the table!” She remarked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again this is my attempt to make people listen to sara bareilles lol  
> [here's the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWrOsObnhfE)


	2. red out of the blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a whole lot of nothing about caspar and linhardt

Byleth slid into the seat next to him, slipping a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. There was a dash of milk and slices of fresh banana in it. "Hhhere you go."

"Oh, thank you. Just the way I like it."

Linhardt looked between the two of them and leaned into Caspar's ear. "Are you seeing this shit?"

"I am, in fact, seeing this shit."

"I trust morning prayer went smoothly? I’m sad to have missed it." Seteth went on without hearing their whispering. 

But Byleth heard it. He sat back in his chair at the breakfast table, listening to the rest of them talk, one hand on Seteth’s thigh, even if he swatted at it a couple times. He couldn’t complain or else he’d look suspicious. Or maybe it was because they’d just had sex. Seteth was always a lot tamer after an orgasm-- something Byleth was more than pleased to find out and take advantage of.

So there in Seteth’s lap his hand stayed.

The conversation shifted and soon enough Linhardt and Caspar began to argue over who had presided over their morning stretch. 

“They’re awfully close, aren’t they?” Byleth asked Flayn after breakfast. They were heading back to their cabins to change into day clothes so they could get on with their activities. Byleth had read over the packet of papers that Seteth had so carefully tailored for their weekend. During his little midnight getaway to the outdoor chapel, he had studied the readings that were assigned for the day, and honestly he was somewhat intrigued. It had him thinking about… love and stuff.

“Who?” Flayn asked.

He nodded ahead, pointing at the duo ahead of them with his chin. It appeared as if Linhardt lost the will to climb all the way back by himself, because he was halfway draped over Caspar's shoulders. Caspar groaned about his laziness, but still assumed the other’s weight, dragging Linhardt up the hill.

“Oh, yeah, they’re best friends,” she replied with an enthusiastic nod.

“Just friends, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shoved him playfully in the side when she caught sight of the mischievous look in his eyes.

“They just seem like more than friends is all.”

“You think so?”

“Know so.”

“I dunno. I think we’re all just friends.”

“How'd you guys meet?" Byleth asked. He'd met Lin through church, and they’d bonded over their not wanting to be there, though one of them was a little more vocal than the other about it, and Byleth had to respect him for sticking it to the big man in the sky. It was punk, if punk could be a little high school anthropology nerd who just didn’t like waking up for church. Byleth had also met Caspar once or twice at Seteth’s house for dinner. The kid was loud and argumentative, which isn’t a good combo, but Byleth admired his spunk and perspective on things. He was also glad the three of them were such close friends. 

In any case, the two of them were like day and night. Salt and sugar.

Flayn looked up, squinting at the patches of bright sky that poked through the trees looming above them. “How did we meet…? Hm.” She stopped to think about it, even though she remembered the day as clearly as she remembered what they had for dinner the night before. “It was in freshman biology. Third period.”

The rest of the campers head in to change and use the bathroom or whatever they need to do to get ready, and Flayn and Byleth hang back, sitting outside on a tree stump in their pajamas as she recounted the time she met her best friends. 

It was the first day of high school. 

Flayn was a new girl in a new town. They had just moved after her mother passed away, and everything was foreign to her. She did what any sane, scared freshman girl would do on the first day of high school: arrive early and claim a seat in the far back. The biology lab was arranged with three rows of tables facing the front whiteboard, two chairs per table. She dreaded the thought of being forced to talk to a partner, so hopefully people would fill out the tables up front first and leave her alone.

She had no such luck.

It wasn’t because someone sat next to her, but because she was stuck doing ice breakers with the two at the table in front of her.

A few minutes before the period began, two boys trudged in and occupied the table. They were arguing about where they should spend their lunch. Well, at least the shorter, blue-haired one was arguing. The taller one was only yawning and saying “Sure” to every suggestion the other made, which made him irritated. 

The teacher put up a bunch of mundane little questions on the board-- what’s your partner’s name? What did they do over the summer? What’s their favorite subject? What did they want to get out of this class? Petty things like that, and in five or ten minutes they had to share the information they’d learned about their tablemate with the rest of the class.

Flayn always hated ice breakers. They were always something that required little thought to answer, and she never remembered anything anyone said past their name. She’d been doing these all day long in every class, and she didn’t get any less awkward with them. It was like everyone already knew each other anyways. Everyone seemed to come from the same middle and elementary school, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, considering just how small the town was. 

Caspar and Linhardt were no exception to this of course.

“Ugh, not this again,” Linhardt mumbled and laid his head in his arms. He had yet to turn around to face her. Looking back on it, it was probably an unnecessary expenditure of energy in his head.

Caspar, on the other hand, had nearly jumped around to face her, sitting backwards with his legs straddling his chair. 

“Haven’t seen you before!” He yelled. She’d soon come to learn that he was always yelling. “What’s your name?”

“Uhm, I’m Flayn.” She didn’t want to go first, but she supposed she had no choice since he asked. She looked past him, over his shoulder and at the board at the front. “Over the summer I… moved here from the coast. My favorite subject is history--”

“Woah, no shit! Lin’s favorite subject is history too!”

She had no idea who Lin was. She didn’t know who _he_ was either, and the bright blue-eyed boy noticed how confused she was.

“Oh, Lin’s this lump on a log over here.” He gave the student beside him a good shove to show her, and Lin barely budged. “Hey, are you related to Principal Rhea?”

“H-how’d you know?”

“I knew it! You’ve got the same hair and eyes as her. I hear she’s like, super strict and scary. Is it true? What’s she like?”

She sank back in her seat. She hated icebreakers, but she also just wished that they’d get it over with without any irrelevant conversation so she could go back to pretending she was invisible. “Uhm… Well, I haven’t seen her in a very long time. I last saw her when I was in elementary school but… She was really nice to me from what I can remember.”

“Yeah, well, you’re family, so I guess you have to be nice to each other. Oh, right! I’m Caspar, by the way! I didn’t do much over the summer, and my favorite subject is gym! ” 

Flayn had never met anyone whose favorite subject was P.E. She could barely keep up with his energy either. And what was up with the other guy? Was he _napping?_ It was barely even eleven in the morning! “Okay… What do you want to get out of this class?”

The question seemed to stump Caspar, because his brow furrowed and he leaned back against his table, arms behind his head. “Hmm. To pass, I guess? Don’t really know what else I can get out of bio one.” He turned to his friend. “What about you, Lin? Got any good insight in that big head of yours?”

Caspar’s chair jolted as if kicked, but Linhardt was the only one who moved, pushing his chair away from the other with his leg. He lifted his head only a little bit, and Flayn barely made out the outline of a scowl on his face.

“My head is not big,” he said. “My name is Lin _hardt_ , and my favorite subject has yet to be determined. Now if you’ll excuse me.” 

Flayn watched as he turned right back around and continued his nap. Or at least tried to.

“Linhardt! You said that if I stopped picking fights at school, you’d stop sleeping during class!”

“I realize now how futile that compromise is. I didn’t sleep well last night, and you can’t possibly not fight people. It’s just in our natures. Good night.”

“What the hell? I haven’t picked a single fight yet!”

“You are now.”

“I am not!” Caspar scooted himself back around and clenched his fists. He moved to bring his hands down on the desk but used a good amount of restraint not to punch it full force.

Flayn couldn’t help but notice Caspar’s voice getting louder and the rest of the class’ growing quieter. “Uhm, guys.”

“Well, you started it!”

Linhardt yawned. “How did I start it? You called my head big.”

“I meant it like your brain’s big! Duh!”

“Guys--” Flayn stammered. The teacher was giving them the stink eye.

“First you don’t wanna tell me where you wanna spend lunch! Then this! You gotta put more effort into things!”

“You do plenty of that for the both of us.”

“ _Goddammit,_ Lin!”

In the end, the three of them got sent to detention for causing such a fuss in the middle of class. Apparently it happened often, so Linhardt didn’t seem all that perturbed by it, but he apologized to Flayn for dragging her into it. It wasn’t fair she got in trouble on the first day of school. Somehow she was just always swept up in their antics like that.

Remembering all of this, Flayn had to stop and laugh. “And that’s how we met. Papa is still wary of them to this day just because of that.”

Byleth laughed, pulling one knee to his chest. The story was an interesting one to say the least. “What _is_ Linhardt’s favorite subject?” 

Flayn shrugged. “In school? I dunno. It changes every semester.”

The man cocked a brow at her wordlessly.

“Depends on which teacher lets him sleep during class.” She glanced at their parish’s music minister from the corner of her eyes, and the two of them fell into a fit of giggles until Seteth came up the hill scolding them for not being dressed.

\--- 

Throughout their second day at camp, Caspar and Linhardt were closer together than usual. Or maybe Byleth was just starting to notice how the two never left each other’s sides.

During lunch, bread, meats, and various condiments were spread onto tables in the middle of the main hall. Seteth instructed them to line up, and go down the line. They were each to make a sandwich, not for themselves but for the person next to them.

“Love,” he said, “does not have to be something big. Love is not always some… celebrated, flashy thing. It can be something small-- a smile or listening to someone or a simple act of kindness. As you go down the line, please listen carefully to what the person to your left has to say as you prepare their food, and once you’re finished, go ahead and sit wherever you’d like. If you have any food allergies I should be aware of, let your group leaders or me know right away.”

It was as if Caspar didn’t even need Linhardt to tell him how he liked his sandwich. He didn’t have to ask what he wanted-- what kind of bread he preferred, which meats or how much of them. He simply spread creamy peanut butter evenly on both slices of bread in thin layers, slopped a spoonful of strawberry jelly in the middle, and cut off the crusts without any instruction whatsoever. Linhardt wasn’t even looking at him. He was busy making Ashe’s lunch himself.

From farther down the line, Byleth watched this transpire with a great deal of interest. He turned to Flayn, whom he was making a sandwich for, and whispered, “Are you seeing this shit?” He motioned to her friends with a slice of whole grain bread.

“I am, in fact, seeing this shit,” she replied with a nod and a small laugh. She felt bad for mocking them and using their own words against them, but at least Byleth didn’t seem angry about how the two remarked on his and Seteth’s relationship in the same way during breakfast.

“How did they do that?” He asked. “Do you like turkey?”

“No idea. Also turkey makes me sleepy, so I’ll pass on that. Tuna salad and mayo is good though.”

“Yeah, and then you put chips in and it gets all crunchy and nice. Tomatoes? Lettuce?”

“Exactly! Yes, please.” She turned away for a second to ask her person down the line what they’d like. “They’ve been friends longer than they’ve been friends with me.”

It wasn’t just during lunch either. Even during readings, when they were split up into groups, Linhardt and Caspar were sitting close together. They always had some excuse to work together or consolidate their activities.

When their hour and a half slot of free time rolled around, Byleth had been convinced the two couldn’t have been _just_ friends, and Flayn was beginning to think that everything had transpired between the two of them in the past four years was a love that wasn't the familial kind.

The hall had grown unbearably hot, and the campers began to migrate towards the lake where it was cooler.

This was the only time he found them not conjoined at the hip. Caspar was having a blast swimming with the other kids, while Byleth found Linhardt napping a ways down the beach, where it was quieter. Less sunny, but not too shady. The kid had a knack for finding the perfect spot to bed down, but then again, he could probably fall asleep anywhere that was vaguely horizontal and not covered in bees.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he approached. He stood, watching and waiting for him to respond, but when he didn’t, he asked, “You’re not really sleeping are you?”

“I was trying to,” Linhardt mumbled. He opened one eye. “You can sit if you want. You’re blocking my sun like that.”

Byleth took a seat. “So are you and Caspar, like, telepathically linked or something?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t tell him how to make your sandwich.”

Linhardt had both eyes open then, which meant he was interested in the conversation, something that was a rare occurrence. “Yes, I did.”

“When?”

“At the very beginning. I just said to make me something easy to chew, and he did.”

“That’s… oddly specific.”

“Did you know that humans spend ten percent of each day’s energy expenditure digesting food? _Spending_ energy to create energy! It’s ridiculous. Why couldn’t I have been born a plant?”

Byleth found himself laughing at such a thought. Linhardt would probably be happiest as a plant-- a tall, lanky succulent or cactus, not doing anything. Just soaking up sun. They sat in silence for a while, doing just that. The sounds of the other campers laughing and playing sounded so far off down the shore, mingling with the slow and steady lap of the water against the lakefront. It was times like this where Byleth could see why Linhardt could spend the rest of his human life doing nothing.

Surprisingly enough, Linhardt was the first to break the silence. “Are you enjoying the retreat?” He asked.

“Yeah, actually. I hated confession though.”

“Same.”

“What about you?”

“Hm?” It appeared as if Linhardt was drifting back off to sleep. He only asked if he was enjoying himself out of politeness and the tiniest ounce of curiosity, seeing as this was his first retreat.

“Are _you_ enjoying the retreat?” He asked, nudging his side to wake him back up. “I know you don’t really… y’know, believe in all this shit.”

“Oh, is it that obvious?” A thin smile traced Linhardt’s lips. “I loathe the _idea_ of these things, but in the end I always end up having fun.”

The older man hummed a neutral sound. “You and me got a lot in common, kid.” He just hoped Lin wouldn’t end up like him because of it.

The idea intrigued him. “How so?”

Byleth didn’t respond. He simply shrugged. He knew that Linhardt knew what made them so similar. It was something they would both rather leave unsaid.

Linhardt snorted. “I think you’re a lot more like Caspar, if anything.” Which was funny, because they were truly two opposite poles on the same magnet. Different extremes on the same spectrum.

“Yeah?” 

Linhardt was reluctant to elaborate, but he indulged him anyways. “You have much more energy than I do. You’re so _sure_ and confident in yourself, and you know what you’re doing. Even if in the future you change your mind… you’re doing what you’re doing _now_ whole-heartedly and without a glance behind. Everyone likes you. You’re handsome and fun, and you just light up any room you walk into--”

“You talking about me or Caspar?”

Linhardt’s eyes shot open, and for a split second Byleth could have sworn he saw him blush. The poor teen rolled over onto his side away from the other and chose not to continue talking on the subject.

Chuckling, Byleth turned his attention back to Caspar, chasing other people down the beach. Seteth was yelling at him from his spot under a tree to be more careful or he’ll slip. “Why haven’t you asked him out yet?”

Lin’s back visibly stiffened. “It’s too much effort. Relationships and all that. Building up to it takes up so much energy. Plus it’d disturb the balance of everything we’ve got going on, and that’s too much to deal with.”

Never of them said anything after that. Byleth watched Linhardt’s shoulders rise and fall in silence for a while. Eventually his breath evened out, and Byleth left him to take his nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha sorry for the short caspardt i needed something to get my writing style back,, setleths next chapter i promise it'll be worth the wait
> 
> (if u couldnt tell this takes place during mania ch.7)


	3. look to receive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seteth catches byleth's nasty cold

“Alexa, play some good shit.”

Seteth woke up to the sounds of a party being had in his kitchen downstairs. With a sniffle and a deep, rattling shiver, he made his way out of his room. His entire body felt heavy and hot, like lead on the verge of melting right onto the carpet. His feet dragged behind him as he meandered through his house in a haze, but he had to be careful or he’d trip on the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders. The sounds of music floated up to the second floor, growing louder as he descended the steps, step by achy step.

There was no party in his house. Just Byleth and Flayn dancing as their smart speaker blasted some energetic song he didn’t know.

The man hung back, leaning against a wooden post at the bottom of the stairs, tucking his hands under his arms and pulling his bed’s throw tighter around him. He felt like he shouldn’t have gotten up, but no one else was going to tell them to lower it down. If only he could catch his breath first….

The two of them were cooking and dancing around, putting on a show by themselves. Flayn was mouthing words to the song into the head of a wooden spoon, and hopping along in her fuzzy socks. Her pigtails flounced and a smile was etched firmly into her precious cheeks. Byleth let her be the frontwoman for a number, nodding and drumming along to the beat with his fingers against the sink. There was a pot of something simmering on the stove; if Seteth weren’t so congested, it’d probably smell like heaven and bay leaves.

Somewhere past Seteth’s fever-clouded mind, he knew that what they were doing was probably dangerous, flailing wildly around a lit stove and sharp cooking utensils, but he couldn’t gather up enough strength to say anything in warning. He could only watch.

The song changed, and Byleth whooped.

“Oh man, I love this song!”

Flayn didn’t stop dancing, merely changed her movements to match the different tempo, and caught Byleth’s infectious grin. “What song is this?”

_Hey, I hear the voice of a preacher from the back room calling my name, and I follow just to find you. I trace the faith to a broken down television and put on the weather._

Byleth held out his hand for Flayn’s imaginary microphone and she handed it to him so she could dance with her hands free. He used the spoon as a spoon though, stirring the pot on the stove as he sang and swayed his hips. During a pause, he gave it a taste, sprinkled in some pepper, stirred until he was satisfied, and then turned back around.

“Hey!” Byleth took Flayn by the hand and spun her around, leading her along to the music. “ _I wanna get better! I didn’t know I was lonely ‘till I saw your face. I wanna get better, better, better, better. I didn’t know I was broken ‘till I wanted to change._ ”

His dancing style was odd to Seteth. It was all upper body and random footwork. His head and shoulders and hips all nodded and swayed in tandem, and his arms moved freely, pushing and pulling Flayn in a fluid, lively pattern. She laughed and followed along. 

Seteth slowly made his way to the doorway where he had a perfect view and rested against that. He envied their abundance of energy as they cruised through the second verse, twirling and jiving nonsensically around his kitchen as they did, and they didn’t take notice of his presence. The lyrics made no sense to him either, and he didn’t think it was because he had a temperature of about 100 and climbing. Girls on the ceiling? Screaming at an interstate? Flayn seemed to love it though, even when the bridge kicked up and they sang about sleeping in the back of taxis.

It was a world that Byleth was only showing her, the sights and sounds of which were transmitted between the two with their hands intertwined, and Seteth envied them for that too. They seemed to have so much fun. They let go for a moment, and Byleth played a guitar in the air. Seteth had never noticed until then how air guitars always looked better when the person knew what they were doing. He was grinning through the whole thing. 

_So I put a bullet where I should’ve put a helmet, and I crashed my car ‘cause I wanna get carried away. That’s why I’m standing at the overpass screaming at myself. Hey, I wanna get better!_

He was grinning even as he sang that, his arms spread wide, and the two of them jumped into the refrain one last time, chanting how they wanted to get better.

Flayn was the first one to notice her father at the door, giggling breathlessly and hunched over, hands on her knees. “Papa!”

Ain’t It Fun by Paramore had begun to play, and the only reason Seteth knew that one was because Linhardt liked the band more than a normal amount. He’d at least learned the beginnings of his favorite songs to know when to start tuning him out in the car as he drove them home from church.

Byleth still had a smile frozen on his face when their eyes met. He strode over and put his hands on his shoulders. “Hey, why’re you out of bed?”

Seteth held in a cough. “Music’s too loud,” he rasped.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Byleth slipped his phone out from his back pocket and manually lowered the volume. He returned his cell back to its place and unstuck hair from Seteth’s sweaty forehead, tucking it safely behind his ear. His touch was cold against his skin.

“What are you doing in my house?” He asked, the question punctuated by small coughs.

Byleth nodded over his shoulder at Flayn, who was pointedly pretending not to see them arm in arm as she busied herself with imaginary dishes in the sink. “I asked her to teach me how to make the soup you brought me when I was sick. Worked wonders.”

Seteth sniffled. “I wouldn’t be sick if it weren’t for you,” he told him. He was upset because he had papers to grade and he could barely even hold a pen without dropping it, shivering as hard as he was.

“You wouldn’t be sick if you didn’t snog me like you did,” the musician replied smoothly.

“You told me to!”

“I did no such thing.” Byleth put on a much too innocent expression, brows arched and eyes rolled up and off to the side. “I told you to prove that you were sorry, not get all my nasty germs and put your tongue in my m--”

“ _Shh--_ ” Seteth hissed, throwing an elbow at him.

He easily dodged, stepping back with his infamous smirk. “Anyways! You should go back to sleep. You look like you can hardly stand.”

Seteth could only glare-- though to Byleth it looked like a mere sleepy squint-- as he pushed past to get to the cabinet with their Motrin. He took his meds with a glass of orange juice he couldn’t taste and shuffled over to the couch, where he cocooned himself with his blanket and passed out.

The sun was still up when he awoke next, just barely peeking over the roofs of the houses across the street and streaming gold into their living room windows. The kitchen had been cleaned, and the TV was on. Vision still blurry, he could vaguely make out the sights and sounds of Flayn kicking Byleth’s ass at Smash. Seteth’s ear was resting against something firmer than any of their cushions, but it smelled familiar enough, so he didn’t give it too much thought.

He was about to drift off again when a hand pressed against his forehead for a second.

“Your temp’s going down,” came a voice from above him.

Seteth turned onto his back and the hand left him. His head was in Byleth’s lap. He saw the musician’s face scrunched up in total concentration, partly obscured by a controller.

“Do you wanna eat?” He asked before clicking his tongue in annoyance. An explosion and a defeated yell sounded from the TV, and a deep voice announced _Game!_ Flayn whispered a satisfied “Yes!” to herself. With their match done, she got up and skipped over to the kitchen.

“I’ll heat up some soup for you!” His daughter chirped, and Seteth listened to her footsteps recede.

With a strained grunt, Seteth brought himself up to sit. His head spun with the movement, but at least he was less achy than a few hours prior. “What time is it?” His throat was dry and tired. He tried to swallow, but he was parched.

“A little past seven,” Byleth replied gently, taking Seteth’s unbrushed and unruly hair and pushing off to the side of his neck. He pressed a kiss to the exposed skin there.

Seteth’s stomach jumped into his throat, and his whole body jerked forward as if shocked. His hair slipped out of the other’s fingers. “ _Byleth,_ I swear to god--”

“Looks like your energy’s coming back too. That’s good.” 

The fact that Seteth had moved away didn’t deter Byleth. All he had to do was scoot closer and put his hands on his waist to keep him rooted in place. Even if he chose to keep playing keepaway, there was only so much couch he could run to. Byleth’s deft fingers snaked under his shirt, and his cool prints rested on his sides. His thumbs pressed alongside Seteth’s spine, trailing up and down, working out a small knot.

“Stop before Flayn sees.” Seteth didn’t even try to whisper. His throat hurt too much for him to speak any louder than a scratchy mumble.

Byleth didn’t reply. He simply continued massaging the small of his back and gave him another kiss on his shoulder.

“I’m serious.”

Defiantly, the man gave him one more kiss on the opposite shoulder before releasing him, and when he stood, Seteth’s skin immediately missed the cold reprieve his hands provided. At least he listened.

“I’ll make you some tea too. You sound like you’ve been gargling nails.”

Felt like it too, but he couldn’t articulate that.

Seteth sank back down into the couch, and Byleth and Flayn eventually came back around with dinner. They were arguing about what to watch as they set a bowl and mug down on the coffee table. It was a heated debate over the Patrick Swayze movie Ghost and New Moon, which was arguably the worst of the Twilight Saga. Flayn wanted something classic and easy to watch. Byleth wanted to make fun of Edward. Seteth didn’t care so long as they used coasters under their plates.

They settled for neither, endlessly scrolling through the cable channels until they settled for an older episode of Chopped. Flayn settled into an armchair off to the side with a bowl of soup, and Byleth went back to his spot on the couch with nothing but a cup of sweet tea. Seteth resisted the urge to lean against him, but when he finished his dinner, he found himself drifting off. The sounds of the TV and Flayn and Byleth hurrying the chefs on screen to “just plate it already!” began to lull him. 

There was something comforting about the noise. Nostalgic and warm and… familial.

When he woke again, the TV was off. The sun was down, and the living room had been plunged into a disorienting darkness. Seteth squinted and could just barely distinguish the outline of Byleth lifting a sleeping Flayn from her chair. He sat up and his eyes followed as he climbed up the stairs to tuck her into bed. He didn't have his phone on him to check the time, but he figured it was a little past midnight.

The pressure on his sinuses had lessened significantly, and he didn't feel too hot or cold. He coughed a little, but it wasn't as violent as before, which was a good sign. He padded over to use the bathroom.

Byleth was peeping around the living room when he returned, using his phone as a flashlight. In the corner of the room stood a tall, old-fashioned, 2-cassette home stereo system in a glass case. It cost a pretty penny back in the day and probably was worthless now, considering the digital age they lived in, which was why Seteth had yet to find anywhere that would take it. The only kind of value it had was a sentimental one. There were stacks of old cassettes piled on top, and Byleth was shuffling through them like cards.

“What are you doing?” Seteth asked, and he was almost surprised to have his voice mostly intact. He flicked on a light in the hall and stood observing him from the doorway.

“This is literally treasure to me!” He exclaimed. When he looked up at Seteth, scrambling to pocket his phone, his eyes were sparkling.

The expression only slightly freaked Seteth out. He wasn’t used to him expressing that much joy.

“What? Old cassette tapes?” 

“They’re not just old cassette tapes. These are classics.” Byleth continues to root through Seteth’s collection.

“They’re classics in old cassette tapes.”

Byleth waved a hand, undeterred. Then the hand reached out and pulled Seteth down to his level. “Bread, The Mills Brothers, The Platters, the Monkees... This is all good shit.”

“How do you even know any of these?” Seteth knelt beside him, though he wished he had his blanket to fight off the residual chill that ran through his body.

“I told you all about my childhood at the shop, right?”

“You did.” He remembered how he was practically raised by a group of auto-mechanics in addition to his single dad. He could picture the hot middle-of-nowhere garage in its better days, bustling with men in greased-stained overalls and clunking boots. Music floats through the air, cutting through the noise of machinery and coarse language. Sinatra, Winehouse, Rachmaninoff, Madonna….

“I listened to _everything._ Even a lot of your old man music.”

Seteth gave him a shove. “I’m not that much older than you.”

Byleth was about to respond with something witty no doubt, when he gasped and lifted a tape out of the pile. “Is this a mixtape?”

Despite being covered in dust, the tape appeared to be well-loved. There was no cover on it like the rest of them, save for a worn index card that bore Seteth’s smudged handwriting in blue ink. The tape itself had a title once written on the piece of masking tape that was stuck to it, long-since lost to years of good use. 

“That takes me back,” Seteth mused with a soft smile. He cleared his throat, and it hurt. “Yes, it’s… a mixtape I made for my wife when we were young.”

“You _are_ old,” the musician giggled.

“You can’t insult me in my own house like this.”

“Does this thing still work?” Byleth ran his fingers down all the buttons and knobs on the stereo system, much too excited for Seteth’s tastes. Seteth wondered if he woke up in a different dimension.

“I think it does. I haven’t touched it in years.” It was then that Byleth found the power button, and the machine whirred to life. A display with blue analog letters blinks on. It spelled out "READY."

Byleth fisted the air. “Oh my god, yes.” He popped open an empty slot, inserted Seteth’s old mixtape, and hit play. Of course the first song that came on was Frankie Valli’s Can’t Take My Eyes Off You; it was a gift from Seteth to his wife after all. 

The younger man hauls himself to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Seteth asked when Byleth pulled him to stand beside him. His knees popped and he _dared_ Byleth to joke about his age one more time. 

He doesn’t say anything, though he did bite back a laugh-- simply gathered Seteth into his arms and began to step back to the middle of the room. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?” Seteth snorted, but he didn’t resist too much. “If what I saw in the kitchen earlier were a preview of your skills, I’d say you’d better learn how to sing sitting still onstage.”

“Oh? And you know how to dance, then?”

“Much better than you at least.”

“You gonna teach me or are you just gonna be a dick about it?” 

Seteth sniffled and turned his head away to cough. “Maybe some other time.” For now, he only had enough energy and patience to sway slightly in Byleth’s hold.

“Then don’t be a dick about it,” he chuckled. His hands shifted around Seteth’s body, the right settling on his waist and the left holding the other man’s right just a ways apart from them. Despite the upbeat tempo of the chorus of the song, they moved slowly as if disregarding the music entirely. “This is your song, isn’t it? You and your wife’s and Flayn’s.”

“This entire mixtape is all of our songs,” he replied. 

“Should I not be dancing with you to these then?” Byleth asked with a brow crooked.

Seteth was surprised and grateful for his concern, but in the end a song was just a song. It never belonged to anyone. He told them that, and then the two danced around the living room in silence, eyes locked and breath evenly in sync, until the song ended and another began. 

The musician scoffed almost as soon as he heard the synth. “Drive? _By The Cars?_ What next? The Promise by When In Rome?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. It’s very… Eighties.”

“What’s wrong with the eighties?”

Byleth laughed. “Nothing! What else is on this tape?”

He had to think about it. It had been a while since it had been played. “...Whenever You’re Away From Me.”

The laugh evolved into something more passionate. Tickled and sputtering. Byleth’s breath was warm on Seteth’s cheek. “From Xanadu?”

The poor man didn’t respond. He just rolled his eyes into the back of his head and leaned back until Byleth apologized, struggling to pull his weight back up. And here Seteth was with half a mind to recount to him the rest of the playlist, but none of the songs were any younger than 35 years old. Hell, most of them were from the late 60s-early 70s, and Sentimental Reasons by Nat King Cole was from as far as 1945. He wasn’t in the mood for Byleth making fun of him and the music his parents passed down to him. At the very least, he figured he would appreciate that there was no ABBA or Journey on the tape.

Their dancing went on for a while like that, chest to chest, hand in hand, eye to eye. Always slow, shuffling no more than half a step back and forth. The tape played on, and every time a new song started Byleth would say something _smart_ enough to make Seteth want to pull the plug and crawl back in bed. He was quiet afterwards and grew increasingly so until he stopped talking altogether.

Seteth enjoyed the quiet. He enjoyed the sounds of the music that influenced his formative years and inspired… old feelings in him. Old, fluttery feelings that against all odds bubbled up from the thick, cakey layers of grief and age in the hollow of his chest. He enjoyed having a hand to hold and someone to step in time with in the darkness of his living room. The quiet here was a different sort of quiet in the city, and it was something the man could never get used to. Back on the coast, outside his window lived a muted, streaming sort of quiet, like the cruise of cars passing by or the wind fitting through tall, close-packed buildings. Whereas out here, it pulsed and thrummed with the chirp of crickets, the creak of his neighbor’s rocking chairs against the porch, and the rustle of gardens, sharp and bright.

Of course with Byleth, silence never lasted long enough. For all his teasing about Seteth’s age, he knew at least the tunes of all the songs, if not all the words, humming or singing softly along, and Seteth let him. 

“We've got a lifetime to share, so much to say, and as we go from day to day, I'll feel you close to me, but time alone will tell...”

Seteth didn’t have the voice or confidence to sing, but he found himself humming along. He’d take this over being bullied. He rested his forehead against his shoulder, and the lyrics floated over his head, airy, light, and tender.

“Love, look at the two of us.” Seteth could hear the smile in Byleth’s voice, but he was too tired to say anything about it. It wasn’t so bad to hear him enjoying himself. “Strangers in many ways. Let’s take a lifetime to say: I knew you well, for only time will tell us so, and love may grow for all we know.”

Their hands unlaced, and the youth pastor brought his arms around the musician’s neck, nose still buried in his shoulder. For All We Know stopped and If by Bread started.

“You wanna go to bed?” Byleth’s voice was soft when he asked, and in response he received a wordless shake of the head. “Okay, do you… wanna play 20 questions?”

There was no malice in it when Seteth asked, “Are you twelve?”

“Are you sixty?”

Seteth huffed and plucked a single hair from the back of Byleth’s head, making him yelp.

_“Hey--”_

“What’s your favorite color?” Seteth asked anyways. 

“Really? The lamest question you could’ve picked?”

“Do you want to play or not?”

“Okay, okay… Hm.” He paused. “I really like mint green. I might dye my hair that color.”

“No, don’t…”

“Why not?” Byleth laughed, and they launched into a conversation about it-- how it would completely destroy his hair, which led to questionable hairstyles they tried back when they were young. The haircut Byleth gave himself before first grade picture day. The horrible, ill-fitting tux Seteth wore to prom. A wardrobe malfunction on bar stage involving a belt. Seteth’s debilitating stage fright resulting from a largely humiliating high school debate. 

The rest of the sleeping world melted away, slipping quietly from their awareness. When their arms got too sore from not moving, they switched positions, moved their arms, and got comfortable again. When they ran into a dead end in their back and forth, they asked another question and went from there, taking turns, and when they eventually forgot whose turn it was, they fell back into silence. The music filled back in.

They didn’t stop dancing through it all.

Somehow, they’d migrated from the middle of the room to closer to the windows. The thought that they’d be seen never crossed either of their minds. 

“I had the last waltz with you… Two lonely people together.”

Seteth’s eyes were closed, so as Byleth crooned into his ear, he was enveloped in the warm sound.

“I fell in love with you. The last waltz should last forever. Lala lala la la la la….”

Without even realizing it, they’d reached the end of the first side of the tape. Seteth remembered purposely copying that number last on the tape for its lyrics. He yawned and stretched. Without the music or conversation, the room fell into a quiet deeper than before, and they lived in it for a few minutes, holding each other. Swaying slower and slower until that too came to a halt, and even then they didn’t pull apart.

“You should get home,” Seteth said at length. All that talking did no good for his throat.

“Lemme stay.”

“You have to.” Even though he was urging him to, his heart dropped when the grip on his waist began to loosen.

Byleth pulled back, and for what felt like the first time in an hour, they locked eyes. “Okay.”

He gathered his things-- his jacket, his wallet, and his keys-- and Seteth led him to the door. Byleth lingered on the front steps, looking for something more to say and when he didn’t find the words, he simply leaned in, held the other’s chin, and kissed him goodbye. 

Seteth allowed him to. “Bye,” he murmured when he retreated away.

“See you,” Byleth whispered before heading to the sidewalk where his bike was parked.

From the doorway he watched as the Harley roared to life much too loudly on their silent street and then vanished into the deep night. 

“Goodbye kisses at the door. Good grief,” Seteth mumbled to himself with the door still open.

He felt like a teenager again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....lots of songs involved here and you can tell i have an old person's taste in music and here they are if you wanna listen
> 
> [i wanna get better](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8twpQTna_9w) \- the bleachers  
> [drive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cAxA-okbK_Q) \- the cars  
> [the promise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPQYFLlGpk8) \- when in rome  
> [whenever ur away from me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1Za7QiKfjE) \- from xanadu  
> [sentimental reasons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1V7auwgpP0) \- nat king cole  
> [for all we know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exhiNToY3eI) \- the carpenters  
> [if](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYFJRomR12k) \- bread  
> [the last waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orCiC9-p7yE) \- engelbert humperdinck

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't read mania yet i recommend reading it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345489/chapters/53381638) first bc the scenes in this are just scattered throughout the original storyline but you don't have to bc these little snippets can stand by themselves. 
> 
> follow me on twit at [plcntagenet](twitter.com/plcntagenet) if u wanna :D


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